by Liz Johnson
She never should’ve tried catching snowflakes.
Inevitably, the snow melted, leaving her gloves cold and damp. Beatrix removed them, finger by finger, and placed them into the pockets of her coat jacket.
The confession of her affections was also, perhaps, an impulsive one, and yet she couldn’t say she regretted that part. For the last five minutes, Tyler had looked at her as if she were the most enchanting woman in the world.
She’d always longed for a man to look at her like that. He even took her elbow to gently guide her around a branch that had fallen onto the sidewalk. He didn’t care how she looked in a photo so much as how she felt under tree branches so thick with Christmas lights they seemed to make a canopy. She could see it in his gaze and in the way he looked out for her as a person, not simply a duty.
Now, he was rubbing his hands together and nodding toward a turn in the sidewalk as his grin widened. “We’re almost there.”
“I don’t know why you won’t simply tell me where the gingerbread contest is to be held. Surely it can’t be so fetching as all this fanfare would indicate.”
Tyler slid his own hands into the pockets of his charcoal-colored jacket, a stark contrast to the red scarf he wore around his neck. “Oh, we’ll see about that.” He pointed upward toward a street sign that read Candy Cane Lane. “Here we are.”
Each residence along the street had been decorated top to bottom with colorful Christmas lights. Some of them even danced in synchronization. Beatrix marveled as she took in the sight. Several houses even displayed inflatables with moving reindeer and snowmen waving toward passersby.
“Isn’t this festive,” she said. Her mother would never allow kitschy décor anywhere near the palace, but Beatrix had a weakness for such whimsy.
“Have you spotted it yet?” Tyler casually slid his hands into the pockets of his coat as if he had a trick up his sleeve.
Beatrix took in each holiday display as they meandered further down the street, trying to figure out what he might mean.
Each house had been meticulously decorated, from the wreaths to the candy cane walkways. But one structure was different from all the other houses. It was smaller, like a dollhouse, and ornate too. Wait! Was that made out of—
“Tell me that’s not made out of gingerbread.” Beatrix pointed toward the little house.
Tyler lifted up on the heels of his feet and grinned. He looked as if he might jump with excitement at any moment. “What do you think?”
“I think…” Beatrix shook her head. What did she think? She started laughing, then grabbed hold of his arms. “Tyler James, I think it’s absolutely magical.”
“I had a feeling you might say that.” He moved her hand to his elbow. “Come with me.”
Tyler led her off the sidewalk, through the lawn, and inside of the walk-in gingerbread house. The rest of the street slept peacefully. And it was only her, and him, and the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon and a million lights of every color suspended in every direction all about them.
They both looked up, toward the gingerbread roof that seemed to be held in place by cardboard and icing. Suddenly, the temptation to take just one little taste was so great that Beatrix reached up and pinched the tiniest corner off one tile of gingerbread. It broke with ease so she knew it hadn’t long been iced together.
Tyler’s grin widened as he stepped even closer, and her heart leapt like the neighbor’s reindeer at his nearness. “Careful, Princess, I’ll tell the Queen.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Beatrix took a nibble of the gingerbread—a little dry from the cold but otherwise quite delicious—then lifted the other half of the piece toward Tyler as a peace offering.
Tyler look it from her and chewed. “Not bad,” he said, covering his mouth with his hand. “But it has nothing on the scone I had earlier.” He made no effort to move from her, and his nearness quickened her heart all the more with the longer he stood there.
Beatrix smiled and let herself fall deep into his eyes, the enchantment of the moment proving too much to resist.
Tyler tucked several rouge strands of her hair behind her ear. “Did you mean what you said before?” His voice lowered. Her resolve to be practical did the same.
“About the gingerbread?” Beatrix offered a sly grin.
Tyler inched closer and shook his head. “About the American.”
“Oh, that.” She tried to play coy, but as he inched nearer still, it was becoming difficult to swallow. Her lips were putty as she tried to say more, and her hands trailed to the back of his neck on their own accord. So instead she looked into his eyes and offered him the chance to read in her gaze what she couldn’t seem to utter with her words.
His eyes shifted back and forth, asking, hoping, wanting for this to be the moment they’d both been waiting for—she recognized the emotions behind the look because she, too, felt each one, and had been familiar with them every day since they parted.
Gently, Tyler touched his thumb to the tip of her chin and raised it higher. So high, she may as well have been looking at the clouds, and for how she felt right now she may as well have been floating on them too. His lips parted and met hers ever-so-softly, as his other hand moved around her waist to draw her closer.
It was their first kiss.
And it was everything a first kiss ought to be.
So perfect, in fact, was the moment that Beatrix knew she would return to it.
When she went back to Ferryridge and all her duties as a princess, just knowing that this gingerbread house ever existed would bring her measures upon measures of joy.
And she very much wished Tyler would never end their kiss.
Chapter 7
To think, Tyler hadn’t even needed mistletoe to get himself into this predicament.
Reluctantly, he peeled himself away from Beatrix and marveled that of all her attractive qualities, the cinnamon spice smell of her hair was very possibly the most attractive of all. She smelled and tasted even more delicious than the scones.
She had kissed him in return, and what was worse—she was looking up at him now as if she’d kiss him all over again. But someone had to look out for her, and letting that whole thing happen just now had been foolish. Time was running out, only this Cinderella’s pumpkin would be turning back into a carriage.
She was not his and never had been his to begin with, despite how he cared for her, how he saw her as more than her title. Tyler’s slow exhale became a puff of white in the cold air, and he ruffled his hair.
Reckless as it may have been, the fact was that even now, he didn’t regret kissing her. He would do it again. Actually, he would do it again without hesitation.
But now that the moment had come and gone, he also knew he better not do it again if he cared to keep his wits about him.
“So. Um—” Tyler cleared his throat. “Now that you’ve seen the gingerbread house where the competition will be held tomorrow, would you like to take another walk through the town square before we head back toward the inn? We’ll have it to ourselves this time of night.” Though he wasn’t entirely sure having it to themselves was the best idea. At this rate, by midnight he was likely to propose.
Beatrix tugged the edges of the hat she’d borrowed further down over her ears. The dainty corners of her rising smile reminded him for some reason of Audrey Hepburn, and he wondered if she knew despite her own poise how his nerves were an absolute wreck around her.
Who was he kidding? Of course she knew. Anyone who’d ever seen a fireplace scatter flecks of ember would recognize the exact, growing feelings he had for her. It was all he could do to keep the embers from setting off a wildfire.
“I’d love to see the town square once more. Earlier, I think I counted three stores dedicated to selling Christmas ornaments.”
Tyler held out his hand to help her over the stoop of the gingerbread threshold. She accepted, and he made no move to let her hand go. “There are actually four.”
“Four?” Beatrix laughed. “
Your little town has a healthy ornament business, I take it.”
Tyler stepped up on the sidewalk, and Beatrix followed, her hand still in his own. He knew he should let go. He really should let go.
He didn’t let go. “We get a lot of tourists this time of year. Everybody wants to stamp their Christmas cards with Tinsel, Vermont.”
“Clever.” For the first time all day, her posture slumped a little, and Tyler considered that a compliment that she must feel comfortable with him.
But as they turned toward Merry Way, a bright flash startled them both.
Beatrix clutched Tyler’s arm with her free hand and ducked her head. Her visceral reaction showed such vulnerability that his stomach turned just thinking of it. She must feel as if the entire world’s attention was on her always. She must live with constant vigilance.
He suspected this when he wrote his article two years ago, which is why he never published it despite how it portrayed her in positive terms. He gave up the article, effectively gave up his career, because publicizing the one day she owned as Beatrix rather than Princess seemed too high a price to pay. But judging from the tabloid headlines, other journalists did not feel the same. All’s fair in fame and royalty as far as they were concerned.
Tyler squeezed her hand against his arm and looked right, then left, to be sure they weren’t being followed. Of course he knew better than to think they were actually being followed. This was Tinsel, after all, and their no-paparazzi rule was strictly enforced. But still, she’d feel better knowing he looked.
“Do you see anyone?” Her voice was hushed and her head, still ducked low.
“No, you’re safe here.”
“How can you be so sure?” Slowly, she raised her head. She seemed to be evaluating whether or not she could believe him, or even trust him, for that matter. And he couldn’t blame her. She lived her life on public display, and in an age of social media, the entire world might know if she used a plastic straw, tripped on a sidewalk, or wore the wrong color to dessert.
“Because I’m here.”
She met his gaze, and he watched as the lines around her eyes eased away.
Well, at least she believed that much.
“Bea?” He probably shouldn’t say it out loud. But his time with her was short, and he wanted to make it as impactful as he could.
“Tyler?” She braved a glance over her shoulder toward the phantom flash moments ago. Satisfied, she straightened her shoulders but didn’t let go of his hand.
“You want to talk about why you panicked like you saw coal in your stocking?”
She eased her grip of his elbow and looked up at him. “You’ve seen the magazines, yes?” She shook her head. “Of course you have. In my own fantasy, I imagined that maybe you hadn’t—that maybe my favorite American and the one person I could trust lived in such a small town that he had no access to cheap tabloids or the rumors swirling about me. But of course that isn’t true.”
“I’ve seen them,” Tyler admitted. “But you forget, I was once part of the industry. I know all about how deceptive it can be. Why do you think I never sold the story I wrote about you?”
She bit her bottom lip. “Indeed, Tyler, I have often wondered that very thing.”
Because I fell in love with you too.
Wind whistled through the barren branches of the trees, sending snowflakes and tiny icicles scuffling down toward Tyler and Bea.
He rubbed his jaw between his thumb and pointer finger as they continued walking. “Because as I got to know you, I saw beyond a title or a perfectly-filtered picture. I saw a living, breathing human being, and the truth is, Beatrix, I still do.”
She raised her chin a little higher, listening as she blinked.
“I still see a princess in all the right ways—even if all the rumors were true.”
“Tyler, I don’t know what to—”
But the sound of leaves rustling with footsteps interrupted her.
Tyler tightened his grip on Beatrix’s hand and rushed her through a little brick alleyway, into a store just around the corner. Her heart raced faster than her feet. A bell clanged as he opened the unlocked door, and he led her away from the windows.
They were inside for several moments before she realized they were standing in a bookstore. Tyler crouched behind a shelf of books and glanced toward the windows. Beatrix stood closely behind him.
“What was that sound?” She whispered. “Do you think it could be paparazzi?”
“Worse,” Tyler groaned.
What could possibly be worse?
Headlines flashed through her mind, and she shuddered at the thought of them.
He stood upright, apparently satisfied they hadn’t been followed, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her skin tickled at his touch. She desperately wished he would kiss her again, though hadn’t the courage to admit it.
“The mayor,” Tyler answered.
“The… mayor?” Beatrix frowned. The smell of old books soothed her racing pulse. Back at the palace, she’d long made a habit of retreating to the royal library whenever she needed an escape, and the familiar smell was a welcome comfort now.
“Yes, the mayor. Grey hair, obnoxious Christmas sweaters? I’m surprised you haven’t encountered him yet, given that you’ve been in town for more than five minutes.” Tyler took one more glance toward the windows, but apparently saw nothing because he turned to face her. “He takes the town ordinances very seriously and is always heckling me about something.”
“Wait a second.” Beatrix put her hands on her hips. “You mean to tell me, you dragged me into this bookstore to avoid a conversation with that man? You’re in trouble for something, aren’t you?” She took a half step closer and raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
Tyler shoved his hands into his pockets. “Guilty as charged.”
“Tyler James!” Beatrix swatted him playfully. “You gave me an awful fright for nothing.”
“Trust me, it was not for nothing.” He shook his head in exaggerated angst. “If he’d caught hold of us, we would’ve been stuck talking to him for at least a half hour.”
“So, what did you do? Trespass in a life-size candy cane? Or don’t you take all your girlfriends traipsing through larger-than-life confectionaries?”
“You should really consider turning in your tiara for a career in comedy.” His words said he wasn’t humored. His tone said otherwise.
“Come on. Tell me.” She winked, hoping he’d find the gesture so charming he couldn’t refuse.
He sighed. “The man wanted me to dress up like the founder of Tinsel for our town’s upcoming Christmas parade. Apparently I look just like him.”
“Tyler,” Beatrix chided. “How could you refuse?”
“Horrible of me, right? Never mind that I let him use the inn for his reindeer trivia night.”
Beatrix held up one finger as she tried to process that statement. “I’m sorry… reindeer…”
Tyler nodded. “Trivia night. Yes, you heard that correctly.”
She started laughing, then lost her balance against a book that’d fallen from the shelf in their mad, dark dash inside the store. With a quick reflex, Tyler caught her and helped her right her footing.
From the firm grip of his arms, she thought he might kiss her again, and if he didn’t, she thought she might kiss him this time. But before she could think it through further, Tyler let go of her arms and cleared his throat.
“Beatrix, can I ask you something?”
My, how serious he sounded. She couldn’t imagine what he might say.
“I suppose.” She gently traced a little circle on the hard floor with the toe of her shoe.
“Earlier, when we were walking and you saw that flash of light, you were terrified.”
She bristled. “I don’t know that I would say terrified, exactly—”
“You were terrified.” He crossed his arms over his coat. As her pulse started to calm, she began to notice details that hadn’t stood out befo
re—such as the black lamppost just outside the bookstore that cast a gentle glow onto the dark street and through the paned glass of the windows and wooden door. “What were you so afraid of? We didn’t finish our conversation earlier.”
Her eyes began to adjust to the dim light inside the bookstore, and she discovered an unexpected curiosity framing the tension around Tyler’s eyebrows. “Paparazzi.”
“Yes, I know that much.” He looked down into his hands, rubbing his open palms with his thumbs. “But is there a reason? I mean, beyond the gossip papers no one takes seriously anyway.”
Panic began to thunder through her such that her head immediately began to ache. Flashes of photographers when she was only a child and then, the memory of the photos. Her father, King of Ferryridge, involved in an elicit affair with the pictures to prove it. Her mother, determined to protect herself and the three girls from disgrace. It was little wonder, of course, her mother had always encouraged a practical sort of courtship for Beatrix—for their hearts had all been broken over her father’s fleeting misdeeds.
“My father had an affair when I was eight.” The words tumbled from her mouth with unexpected readiness, as if they had been poised and waiting to be said for years. She tried explaining further to see if the next part also came with ease. “His dishonor for his wedding vows soon grew into dishonor for his country until he ultimately left his royal life behind.”
“Oh man.” Tyler shuffled his feet then looked up at her. “That’s a lot, Beatrix. That had to be difficult.”
“Life is difficult for everyone in their own way.” The sentiment sounded like something she would say to the media. She felt it, and she suspected he did too. So she tried a different approach. “The truth is, Tyler, every time the press runs a story trying to smear my reputation, it triggers a sense of panic within me that I, too, am going to shame my family and my country just as he did. Sometimes the weight of that feels like too much to bear, and in those times, I understand why he felt his only option was to disappear.”
